Fletcher left the cell area and stopped in front of her, resting his hands on his hips, staring at her. He appeared to be fighting a smile. “Sit over there.” He gestured with his chin to a chair close to the window.
“Sheriff, I’m a bit cold in these wet clothes. Can I please go home and change? I can take care of my bruise myself.”
“Did you forget you’re under arrest?”
Her eyes grew wide “You can’t mean that.”
His slight smile turned to a frown. “I’m not sure if I mean it or not right now. But, dammit it, woman, you are trouble looking for a place to land.”
Fletcher’s gut tightened at the sight before him. Julia’s hair hung in wet strands around her shoulders. She was soaked with filthy water, and the pretty dress she’d arrived in this morning was obviously ruined. Despite all that, he found it hard not to notice how the wet garment clung to her curves. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and she had the beginning of a bruise on her chin.
So why did he find her attractive? It drove him crazy that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get this bundle of problems out of his mind. She’d turned his world upside down since he first laid eyes on her.
“Come on. I’ll get my carriage from the livery and drive you home so you can take care of that bruise and get into something dry and warm.”
“Thank you.”
He walked to the cell where his prisoners were both slumped on their cots, facing each other, in deep conversation. “I’m taking Miss Benson home. I expect you both to behave yourselves while I’m gone.”
“Ain’t much we can do, since you have us locked up behind bars,” Maynard groused.
Wimbly ran his thumbs up and down his overall straps. “Hey, Sheriff, bring a checkers set back with you, would ya? Maynard and I could pass some time.”
Fletcher shook his head. They’d caused a commotion, beat each other up, waved a gun, punched a woman in the chin, and now they acted like the best of friends.
“Wait here, and I’ll get the buggy. It’s cold outside.” He took an extra jacket off the hook and tossed it to Julia. “Put this on; it will help a little bit. I’ll be right back.”
He took the ten-minute walk to the livery, ducked questions on the street fight, then arranged for the buggy and returned to the jail. When he walked inside, Julia wore the jacket he’d given her and was pacing, using her palms to rub her arms in an attempt to keep warm. The jacket engulfed her as if she were a mere child, and she shivered, her lips already turning blue.
“Come on, let’s go.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they left the jailhouse. He pulled her to his body, hoping to warm her up.
“I’m a little c-c-cold.”
“I can see that.” He lifted her into the buggy and threw her a blanket he’d gotten from the livery. “Wrap yourself in that. I suggest when you get to Mrs. Beamer’s you climb into a hot bath.”
He groaned as he circled the buggy and climbed in. Now why did he mention a bath? All he could imagine was Julia peeling off that wet dress and undergarments, then climbing naked into the bathtub. He envisioned water dripping down her silky skin, little drops pooling in places where his lips could suck the liquid, then move further down… He swallowed another groan and began to recite multiplication tables, something he hadn’t done since he’d been a kid.
Sometime during the trip to the boarding house, Julia had buried herself up to her chin in the blanket he’d given her. Still she shivered. She looked over at him, her wet hair resting on her shoulders in strings, her lips blue, and a nasty-looking bruise on her chin.
“Maybe you should have the doctor look at your jaw.”
“No. I’ll be fine. I’ll put a cold cloth on it. Right now I just want to get warm.”
Fletcher helped her out of the buggy and escorted her to the front door. Since the door was unlocked in the daytime, she didn’t need to get her key out. She opened the door and turned to him. “Thank you.”
“We still have to discuss your behavior today. You put yourself into danger by—”
“Please? I’m cold.”
He sighed. “All right. But in my official role as the sheriff of Wickerton, I want you to report to the jailhouse tomorrow morning.”
“Are you still going to arrest me?”
“We’ll discuss that in the morning.” He reached for the doorknob and began to close the door. “Go take care of yourself, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
From force of habit, Fletcher made the Full Bucket his final stop for the evening. The saloon was busier than normal. Several tables held poker players, and every other table in the room held men doing some serious drinking. Fletcher wove his way through the tables and headed to the bar. He waved at Mackinaw. “Whiskey.”
The manager nodded and poured the liquid into a shot glass and placed it in front of him. “How ya doing tonight, Sheriff?”
“No complaints.” He looked out at the crowd. “Seems like you’re doing a good business tonight.”
“Yeah. Payday for a few farms and ranches in the area.”
“I guess it’s hard with Julia out of work tonight.”
Mackinaw furrowed his brows. “Julia? What do you mean?” He looked over the busy room. “She’s here somewhere.”
Fletcher choked on his drink. “She’s here? She was injured this morning.”
The manager shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. She looked okay to me.” He turned away to pour a beer for another man at the bar.
His blood pumping, Fletcher took a closer look at the crowd. Sure enough, a woman dressed in the red satin outfit of the Full Bucket turned, her eyes meeting his. Julia smiled, and he stormed toward her. Her eyes grew wide as he got closer.
She placed her hand on her heart. “What?”
“What are you doing here?”
She gave him a questioning look. “I work here. I thought we already established that a few days ago.”
“Have you already forgotten you were injured this morning?”
“Oh, that. One of the girls gave me some face paint to cover the bruise.” She tilted her chin. “Look. You can’t see anything.”
Fletcher rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “You should have given yourself a night off. You can’t tell me your jaw doesn’t hurt.”
She shrugged. “A bit. But I can’t afford to miss work. Now if you will excuse me, I have customers wanting their drinks.”
He opened his mouth to speak when behind him the sound of a table hitting the floor and poker chips scattering drew their attention. A man backed up and plowed into Fletcher, who grabbed another table to keep from falling.
“Get away,” he shouted to Julia.
She stood like a statue, staring at the two men throwing punches at each other. Fletcher grabbed for one of them and missed. Three others dove into the melee, crashing into another table, splitting it in half. Fletcher pulled a chair from a man just before he was about to crash it onto another one’s head.
What the hell was going on? He’d had his fill of fights today. The men at the outer tables shouted instructions and encouragement to the men fist fighting. Since Fletcher didn’t recognize a lot of them, they must have been the farm workers in town for the night.
Remembering Julia was once again in danger, he swung around just as a man fell at her feet. “Julia, go behind the bar,” he shouted. He grabbed her by the elbow. “Move!”
Spurred into action, Julia backed away from the two men rolling around the floor in front of her and scurried behind the bar just as Fletcher pulled out his gun and shot into the air. After receiving one final punch, the man closest to him collapsed on a table, breaking it in half. The others froze, some of them with arms in place ready to connect with another man’s face.
Silence fell over the room. “Now I want all of you to settle down. I don’t know what started this whole thing and don’t care, either. But right now Mackinaw here will be taking names, and you’ll all be required to split the cost of the damages this
little brawl caused. If any of you have a problem with that, I’ll be happy to escort you to the jail where you can wait for the circuit judge to come around.” He rested his hands on his hips and spread his feet. “Is that clear?” Several men nodded. “I need a ‘yes’ from all of you, or everyone’s headed to jail tonight.”
The rest of the men nodded. One man had a bloody lip, several were already showing signs of black eyes, and Mackinaw tossed a glass of water on the man on the floor. He came up sputtering.
“Get this place cleaned up.” Fletcher slid his gun back into his holster, stepped over broken furniture, and leaned on the bar. “Miss Benson, I will escort you home now.”
Julia glanced at Mackinaw.
“Yeah, go ahead on home. It’ll take while to fix this, then I’m closing up for the night.”
Tired to the bone from the escapade earlier in the day and the time on her feet, Julia was more than ready to leave. Despite what she’d told Fletcher, her jaw ached something fierce. For an old man, Mr. Wimbly packed quite a wallop.
She fetched her coat from the back room and joined Fletcher who watched over the men cleaning up. He must have seen the weariness in her face because he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and, practically carrying her, moved them though the mess the saloon had become.
The cool night air felt good on her heated skin. He walked her up to his horse and grasping her around the waist, he lifted her onto the saddle, then climbed up behind her.
“No buggy?”
He enveloped her in his arms and took hold of the reins. “I don’t usually make my nightly rounds in a buggy.”
“Oh, of course.” She tried very hard to smother a yawn, but it escaped anyway. She also found it hard to sit up, so, against her better judgment, she leaned into Fletcher’s warm chest and immediately relaxed. The steady beat of his heart against her back, the familiar scent of man, horse, and leather, and the rocking of the horse, would have put her to sleep if her jaw hadn’t continued to throb. Why did this position feel so good? So right? She felt as if she were cared for and protected for the first time in years.
“Julia?”
“Um.”
“Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“What am I not getting right?”
She snuggled further into his arms, and smiled. “Think about it.”
Chapter Eight
Julia wasn’t sure why she’d accepted Fletcher’s invitation to the Harvest Dance. Held every year on the first Saturday in October, he’d told her, it gave the farmers, and the town, a reason to celebrate before they were all snowed in for the winter.
She hadn’t given much thought to snowy winters when she’d agreed to marry Mr. Johnson of Wickerton, New York. They’d had snow in Rhode Island where she’d grown up and in Lawrence the two winters she’d worked in the factory. However, from what Fletcher had told her, winters could get pretty bad this far north.
Although she’d agreed to attend the dance with him, it hurt to see Fletcher, and feel what she did for him, knowing he viewed her as merely someone to help raise his daughter. He seemed to still be mourning his wife, who he must have loved very much. That was certainly understandable, but she was afraid he would never open up his heart again.
Every glance he gave here, every touch, whether accidental or not, stirred her blood and made her long for something that would probably never be. Sometimes the way he looked at her made her wonder if he wasn’t feeling some of the things she felt. Then she would dismiss it.
Perhaps she would be far better off saving her money and finding another nice little town to settle into. One where she wouldn’t run into him every day. She smiled, remembering how he followed her home each night, thinking she had no idea.
After the first few times she had thought someone purposely followed her, she had stopped and pretended to adjust the button on her shoe. From the side of her eye, she saw him duck into the shadows. She’d stifled a giggle since she would know him anywhere. In the light, in the dark, and in the shadows.
If he cared enough about her to make sure she arrived home safely, why couldn’t he admit he might want her for more than just a substitute mother for Patty Ann?
A soft knock on her bedroom door drew her from her musings. “Yes?”
Mrs. Beamer opened the door. “The sheriff is here, Miss Benson. And I must say your young man is looking quite handsome.”
“Thank you.” Julia picked up her warm coat, wool gloves, and bonnet, and followed her landlady down the stairs. Fletcher stood in the parlor, his muscular legs spread. Oh, my. Yes, her “young man” was indeed handsome.
His hair was still damp from his bath, his blond curls skimming his collar. He stood with his hat in his hands, twirling the brim as he talked to Mr. Andrews, who was June Dixon’s beau. They were also attending the dance.
Julia couldn’t help but admire Fletcher’s broad shoulders, trim waist, and long, strong legs. What would it be like to have him as a husband? To climb into bed every night with him next to her? A flash of heat at the idea raced through her, making her clothes feel restrictive. Just then he turned, and the sparkle in his eyes as they met hers increased the heat until she felt as though she would explode. This was crazy. She had to get herself under control.
“You look lovely, Miss Benson.”
Assuming he used the formal term because of Mr. Andrews, she responded with, “Thank you, Sheriff.”
The twinkle in his eye turned to humor, and almost as if they could read each other’s minds, she fought to keep from laughing out loud.
Mr. Andrews nodded in her direction. “Yes, Miss Benson, you look very nice.” He ran his finger around the inside of his collar, something he most likely did every time he wore a dress shirt, since, as a farmer, he was more accustomed to flannel shirts and overalls.
“Thank you, also, Mr. Andrews.”
Fletcher stepped up and took her coat from her arm, helping her into in. He rested his hands on her shoulders for a minute, the heat in her body that had begun to dissipate returning. Since her back was to him, she couldn’t see his expression, but his breathing seemed to be heavier than usual.
What was happening?
He cleared his throat and extended his arm for her to take. She shivered slightly when she touched him, yet her skin still felt hot. Maybe she should stay home.
I might be getting sick.
Fletcher helped her into a buggy in front of her house. He climbed in beside her and handed her a blanket, then took it back from her hands and wrapped her in it, pulling her close. He stared at her for a minute, then slowly lowered his head.
Oh, God. He was going to kiss her.
His lips touched hers, brushing them back and forth, barely making contact. A groan escaped him, and he cupped her face and held it gently. Anchoring her head, his mouth covered hers hungrily. He nudged her lips and when she opened, he swept in, touching parts that she’d never realized were sensitive.
Her arms moved up his chest to settle on his shoulders. He released her lips and kissed her jaw and the sensitive skin behind her ear. “I couldn’t help myself, sweetheart. You’re a beauty.”
The man was wreaking havoc with her senses. Her breasts were crushed against him, and once again her clothes felt restrictive. She pulled back, placing her hands on his chest. They both gasped for breath. She moved further back, into the corner of the buggy. “I think we’d better go. Mr. Andrews and June will be coming out any minute.”
“Yes, you’re right.” He slid back over and picked up the discarded straps. He snapped the reins, and the horses took off, jerking Julia back. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the blanket down, no longer cold.
Heavens! That was quite an experience. She’d never been kissed like that before. Actually, she’d never really been kissed at all. Perhaps a peck on the cheek from a young boy when she’d been a girl, but certainly never from a man and never like that. What had he been thinking? Had he discovered feelings for her after all?
&nbs
p; They were practically at the town hall, where the dance was being held, before her breathing returned to normal. The well-lit hall cast enough light through the windows that it almost looked like daytime. Parked in neat rows, buggies, carriages, and wagons filled the area in front of the building.
Everything look so ordinary, she wondered if she’d imagine what they’d just shared. She cast a glance in Fletcher’s direction and knew she’d not imagined it. The passion had turned his hazel eyes almost brown. Did she look the same? Would everyone in the dance hall know what had just happened between them?
“Julia.” He leaned closer and placed his knuckle under her chin.
“Hey, Sheriff. You and your gal gonna join us or you gonna sit out here all night?” Dex Roberts, Wickerton’s only barber, grinned as he leaned into the buggy.
Julia breathed a sigh of relief. She was still trying to figure out what had happened back there. She’d been feeling out of sorts from the time she came down the stairs and saw Fletcher standing there, twirling his hat in his hand
“Sure. We’re coming in right now.” Fletcher jumped from the buggy and swung Julia down. Dex kept up a running conversation, mostly with himself, as the three entered the building, leaving Julia to her thoughts.
Life had been hard growing up in Rhode Island with so many brothers and sisters, so there was rarely time, or money, for entertainment. Julia had been working at the factory for almost a year before she’d attended her first dance. The smell of women’s perfumes, the sounds of the music, the excitement in the crowd, and the feelings they invoked still enthused her. She looked around and was glad she’d taken the time to wash and iron her best dress. The light blue muslin, with pearl buttons down the front and lace on the neckline and cuffs, had always been one of her favorites. She’d made the dress at the factory, after hours, with the owner’s permission.
Julia_Bride of New York Page 7